


Into the depth of one's soul.

by LupinPauline



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Badass Clarke, Clarke isn't alone in her head, Dark, Death, F/F, Heda Lexa, Lexa is a florist because it too cute, Spirits, Wanheda Clarke Griffin, but she will blow you up if you do shit, shitty past, sweet Lexa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupinPauline/pseuds/LupinPauline
Summary: Clarke sometimes feels on her own despite the fact that she has friends and she has to share her space head with a homicidal spirit. (Only the bad ones, it says)She doesn't feel broken although maybe a bit shattered. A bit misunderstood and... empty.But she thinks it's alright, everybody would be if they lived her life.Lexa is kind and wants to help everyone. She is a beacon of light for some people, the one that keeps them from doing reckless decisions. She knows it and they do too. Some say that she is godsend but she brushes them off, saying that everybody should be doing this kind of thing. But she is aware that there are things in this world that aren't kind to people. And she does her best compensate.When these two meet, how will it go ? Sometimes, the evil hides in the things we expect the least. And maybe they will learn it to their own depends.





	Into the depth of one's soul.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Prisoner 319](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8484277) by [ur_the_puppy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ur_the_puppy/pseuds/ur_the_puppy). 



> Hi ! LupinPauline talking here. I am proud to announce that it is my very first fanfiction presented to other people. You have to know that I am not English (hello, Frenchie here) and I do my best to write something readable and coherent and maybe the conjugation will be incorrect because this is hard okay and I am trying.  
> Maybe when I write it's idk "too much" (I feel like it is sometimes) so I am taking criticism gladly.  
> I hope you will enjoy this story of mine !  
> Later !

**Where is she ?**

The same voice rose Clarke from her light sleep. _"Still no dreams,_ she thought, _only that voice."_ She rolled over and looked at the clock. 4:26 AM. She got up and went to the bathroom to freshen up. Looking into the mirror, her reflection showed the sleepless nights. Clarke sighed and turned around, going to her kitchen. Her short knives and long blades were cleaned up and sorted on the table. The kill of earlier was a bit more thrilling than usual but not extraordinary. The obsidian blades were absorbing the fluorescent light as they were doing earlier with the silver moonlight. Just thinking about it-

**Not enough**

The hunt of this night didn't fill it endless appetite neither... with each kill, the thing was more or less satisfied, but each time it demanded more. Or of better quality, depending on the time. The beast's infinite appetite always leading her nights outside. Sighing, the blonde turned around and walked back to her room, choosing her running attire. It was never too early to workout.

While she was running, Clarke was remembering the sentence the voice had said. Who was this mysterious girl ? Why was the voice so interested in this unknown girl when it never mentioned anybody before... Exhaling, Clarke took a turn left and slowed down. Trying to even her breath, she heard some rustling near the trash. The thing within her, was beginning to stir, it's attention woken up, meaning something bad was in there.

The thing had the ability to consume everything evil or remotely bad : murder, robbery, rape or any abuse resulting in the development of the seed of bad into the soul. It was up to her to decide if she did something about it. Weighting the good and the bad in the culprit's soul. Sometimes, she was telling herself that it wasn't her place to play God. If it existed. But the thing was prompt to tell her otherwise: **"If**   **I**   **am** **still here,** it would say, **it means that you are doing something good.** " Clarke never dwelled too much on that. Walking quietly around the bins, she spotted a homeless man, searching for something in an apparently expensive-looking purse. She closed the man waiting for him to notice her. When he did, she ran the last meters to him and put her hand on his forehead, her eyes darkening, the piercing blue getting dark indigo.

To "judge", as the shadow lurking in the depths of her mind would say, she needed to know the reasons of the action. It was necessary not to make a mistake. Judge, jury and executioner. The impossible association for an impartial judgement. But as said, she didn't dwell on it, only on the times her shitty condition started to get to her.

Her power permitted her to do some insane tricks. Like going into one's mind and rewinding their memories to see what she wanted. She could even feel their emotions at a precise moment. Doing exactly that to the man, she discovered that he didn't eat for the last four days and was desesperate. So he stole the bag from a rich woman who let it on the floor and took shelter in this dark alley. He felt sorry for the woman but he _needed_ to eat.

Coming back to herself, Clarke's eyes took back their original color. She was thinking about what she had seen and was deliberating in her head of the man's fate. He was out cold and was lying on the floor. It was the first time he was stealing. From what she gathered, he was in this situation because of his father's debts and was laying low because he didn't want to be bothered by the bookmakers searching for his father. He was just not in the right lifetime and Clarke couldn't help hoping that his next one would less unforgiving. She dug in her pocket to take out two bills of 10 dollars and placed them in the man's hand. It would be enough and she didn't have more. He was allowed to live because he did one action considered as bad but it wasn't in his soul. He didnt have a bad seed planted. **It** would have told her. Clarke put her hand on his arm and instilled in his mind the drive to give back the purse to it's right owner. She knew it would work, she has seen it many times before.

Rising up, she dusted her jogging. Her job was done here. She turned around and started running back home. The thing was going back to sleep, grumbling about not being well fed but content in the fact that Clarke had done something right. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well it's done ! I hope you enjoyed it. Maybe we will see each other later. And if you stick here, I wanna say that I don't know where   
> I'll go with this but I will try to update as I can when I have ideas so bear with me !  
> Bye !


End file.
